


The Tale of Sir Galahad and the Ridiculous Chicken

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Don't use birds to flirt, Galahad is not here for this, Hannibal Extended Universe, M/M, Tristan is bad at flirting, Tristan's hawk takes an interest in Galahad's things, but he may be here for a little Tristan action, it's weird - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 11:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10740726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: Tristan's hawk takes a sudden interest in Galahad, stealing his things whenever Galahad isn't looking. Tristan is unhelpful at solving this problem. Fluff and crack in the time of chain-mail.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Tristhad Week, Y'all!  
> OK, this is my first Tristhad, so let me know what you think. Lords know I've written a novel here.  
> Also, don't worry, the story's complete, I'll post the rest tomorrow.

          Tristan didn’t even have the courtesy to look up when he caught the mug Galahad flung at his head. Instead, he placed it on Vanora’s tray with his own.

          “Careful, pup, you could have hit the lady.”

          “I WANT IT BACK!” Galahad fumed , marching toward the small gathering of Sarmatian knights still mulling over their breakfast s. His glower was enough to cause Gawain to scoot out of his path and Bors to tuck Vanora behind him. Tristan, however, remained annoyingly calm in the face of Galahad’s rage.

          “Then you shouldn’t have thrown it.” Tristan took the mug from Vanora and offered it back to Galahad. The younger knight slapped it out of Tristan’s hand.

          “I want my bracer back, Tristan.” Galahad held out his hand. Tristan raised an eyebrow.

          “What use would I have with your bracer, pup?” Tristan snatched at Galahad’s arm, dragging the knight into his lap. He forced the younger man’s wrist up. “I couldn’t fit into anything made for these dainty wrists.”     

          Galahad shoved at Tristan, righting himself. He could hear the snickers of Bors and Lancelot behind him. Gawain had stood, poised to break up the oncoming fight.

          “Your damn bird took my bracer.”

          “What?”

          “That ridiculous chicken that follows you everywhere, she dove down as I was changing this morning and stole my bracer.” Galahad could feel his face redden. Tristan merely blinked.

          “Sounds like your quarrel isn’t with me, boy.” Tristan took an apple from his pack and began to cut it. “I can point you to the tree she favors if you’d like to ask her about your bracelet. Be careful with your tone though, she’s not as kind as I am.”

          Galahad glared at Tristan, thrusting a finger in the knight’s face. “I want my bracer returned, by the end of the day.”

          “Careful Tristan,” Lancelot called between giggles. “Arthur might have to have the bird whipped if she steps out of line again.”

          Galahad grabbed the apple from Tristan’s hand, throwing it at Lancelot. He stomped out of the tavern to the sound of laughter.

* * *

          The bracer had been on his bed when he returned from his patrol. Galahad lifted it to his nose, it smelled of grass and bowstring oil – a sure sign the scout had placed it on his pillow. He considered marching to Tristan’s bed chamber and yelling at him some more. Galahad pictured pushing at the knight’s bare chest, holding him firm to a mattress, biting at that infuriating smirk until the scout was moaning beneath him. 

          He dropped the bracer.

          Galahad walked to his dresser on unsteady legs and grabbed his pitcher of water, splashing his face. Seeing Tristan right now was clearly a poor idea. It always was for him. Galahad wiped off his face and fell into his bed, clutching the bracer as he waited for sleep.

* * *

          “I KNEW IT!” Galahad glowered at the bird nesting in his shirt. He rushed  toward Tristan, sending droplets of water flying with each step. “If you can’t keep that feathered thief from my things, I’ll put her on a spit!”

          “Is that your shirt, pup?” Tristan didn’t look up from the map splayed over the round table. “I thought she’d found some scrap for her nest.”

          “That thing swooped out of the sky when I was bathing and attacked me.”

          Tristan raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You couldn’t defend your shirt from a bird?”

          Galahad sputtered, leaning over Tristan. “She scratched me, sliced at me while I was naked. She sho-”

          Tristan’s warm hand on his chest stopped Galahad cold. He had run to the round table from the baths, only pausing to drag his leathers over his soaking hips. He hadn’t felt naked until this very moment.

          “You’re dripping, boy.” Galahad allowed Tristan to push him back, strong fingers pressing into his bare chest. “Arthur won’t be able to read the map if you wet it.”

          Galahad stared blankly at the hand that was still on his chest. He wanted to keep it there.

          “Well? What are you waiting for?” Galahad looked up, confused and panting. Tristan smirked and nodded at the bird. “Get your shirt back.”       

          Galahad reached for his shirt in a daze. The hawk snapped at Galahad’s hand. He drew it back with a gasp.

          “Now, now Isolde, it’s not becoming to be jealous,” Tristan scolded, holding his hand out to the bird. She hopped to Tristan’s arm, ruffling her feathers and casting a cool look at Galahad. “Would you like me to clean that shirt, pup? You could have one of mine in its stead.”

          The young knight fought the urge to snarl at a bird, snatching his shirt and trudging away. He shook the garmet, frowning when a feather fell out of it.

          As he tried to yank the linen over his wet head, Tristan called to him. “Leave it off. That creamy skin could use some sun.”

          Galahad flushed bright, cursing himself as he fled from the scout’s gaze.

* * *

          It had been a hard practice. Galahad was distracted, allowing Bors and Gawain to best him several times as they traded blows. It was hard to focus on the man in front of you when you were worried about a hawk swooping from the sky and attacking you.

          Tristan watched the whole humiliating practice with a small smile playing at his lips. Though he was clearly focused on Galahad’s matches, Tristan managed to best Lancelot in both of their bouts. It was infuriating.

          Worse still, Tristan whispered a few words to Arthur and left the training session early. Galahad scowled at the retreating scout. He thought of calling out to Tristan, challenging him to a round when Bors cried _Look fast! A bird!_ causing him to duck. When no talons grabbed for him, Galahad looked up, only to find Bors and Gawain holding raven feathers and pretending to fly around him, laughing .

          Throwing his wooden sword at Gawain’s ankles, Galahad stormed out of the training area. He let his foul mood hang over his head as he stomped through the town. He managed a meager smile for a shop girl as he purchased an apple, but it fell from his face when he heard a familiar cry.

          Before he could spot the damnable beast, the hawk and swooped down and grabbed Galahad’s apple with its talons, taking to the sky. Galahad reached for his arrows, sighting the bird as it flapped for the trees.

          Something stayed his hand from loosing the arrow. He thought of Tristan cooing at the hawk, feeding it bits of meat and rubbing his chin along its crest of feathers. With a frustrated grunt, Galahad lowered his bow. He slung the bow over his shoulder and ran after the bird. He may not kill the bird today, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find the scout she belonged to.

* * *

          He lost the hawk when he entered the grove of cypresses, but he could guess where the beast was going. Tristan favored a small inlet by the nearby brook, just deep enough to wade into during the heat of the summer. Galahad had stumbled on Tristan laying naked in the waters last summer . The scout had smiled, telling Galahad he turned a maidenly shade of pink and inviting him to enjoy the water.

          Galahad had fled – flushed, panting, and half hard beneath his hauberks. In his dreams, he would occasionally join Tristan in the stream, running his hands over a furred chest and tracing battle scars.

          Galahad bit his lip, banishing the thoughts. It was no use to think of things that would never be. He stomped through the brush, not bothering to hide his steps from the sensitive ears of the scout.

          Clearing the tree line, Galahad came upon Tristan, straightening the edges of a soft basket and unpacking food from a basket. The hawk cried once, dropping Galahad’s apple from some branch above Tristan. The scout caught the apple absently, still fiddling with his lunch. When Tristan looked up from his task, he took a bite of the apple and offered Galahad a smile. 

          “Hello, pup, out for a walk?”

          “You know damn well why I’m here.”

          “You wanted to share lunch with me?” Tristan’s mouth curved into a grin, an expression Galahad thought of many nights as he lay alone in his bed. Tristan flopped on a soft blanket, gesturing to a basket overflowing with food. “There’s room by me and plenty of food.”

          Tristan tossed the apple in the air over and over, a lazy game for his sharpened reflexes. Galahad fumed. It wasn’t bad enough that he had to tamp down on his feelings toward Tristan, now the beautiful feral knight and his stupid chicken  had made a game of mocking him.

          “THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN THAT FEATHERED MENACE STEALING FROM ME IS THE THOUGHT OF SHARING A MEAL WITH YOU!” Galahad’s roar could probably be heard in town. He no longer cared. “It’s vexing enough that I must to look at you every day, put up with your odd ways because Arthur trusts you. Now I have that thing swooping in constantly, reminding me of just what a nuisance you both are!”

          Tristan’s hands faltered, the apple falling to the blanket and rolling to the grass. Galahad squinted, he’d never seen Tristan miss a catch.

          “I’m sorry, Galahad. I’ll keep her penned when I’m not with her.” Tristan’s voice was even, but there was something odd about the tone. Too soft for the gruff scout. And when had Tristan ever called him anything other than boy or pup? “We won’t bother you again.”

          “Good.” It was an unquestionable victory, yet Galahad felt a severe sense of loss. He shook his head, ignoring the queasy feeling in his stomach. “See that you don’t.”

          Galahad marched away, not daring to look back.

* * *

          Tristan’s absence from dinner settled into the pit of Galahad’s stomach, making his ale taste sour.

          “Where is Tristan?” he asked finally, flushing slightly at the amused looks he got. “Did that lunatic bird finally fly off with him?”

          Arthur looked up from his conversation with Lancelot, an odd set to his eyebrows. “He’s patrolling the coastline.”

          Galahad scoffed. “The Romans do that, why do they need our scout?”

          “He asked for the task and I obliged.” Arthur turned back to Lancelot .

          Galahad picked at his food. The patrol would take five days, seven if the weather didn’t hold. Something felt wrong about Tristan’s sudden departure, it didn’t sit well with the young knight as he pushed carrots through his gravy. He rose, he had no taste for food or ale tonight. Perhaps it would be best to simply go to bed, start fresh in the morning.

          “Where are you off to?” Gawain asked.

          “I’m to bed, I find myself tired.”

          Gawain smiled softly, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll mood will clear in a few days.”

          “Five, I’d wager,” chuckled Bors. Vanora slapped at the back of his head.

 


	2. Chapter 2

          It had been seven long days of watching the skies, praying for a hawk. Galahad was starting to fear something had happened to Tristan. Worse, he couldn’t understand why none of his brothers at arms seemed concerned.

          He stormed into the tavern, ready to insist Arthur let him head a search party.

          “Should he not be back by now?” Galahad asked a confused Arthur.

          “Who?”

          “That worthless scout.”

          Gawain smiled at the insult, Vanora slapped the back of Bors’ head before he could make a comment.

          “You sent him off a week ago. If he’s not back by now, surely we should be out looking for him.”

          Arthur squinted at Galahad, utterly lost. “Tristan’s been back for two days now.”

          Galahad cocked his head. He felt as if Arthur had slapped him.

          “No. I’ve checked his bedchamber several times. It hasn’t been slept in.” He looked to Vanora. “He hasn’t been here for meals, has he?”

          Gawain leaned forward, eyebrow raised. “Seems he’s taken to the trees with that hawk of his.”

          “He can’t do that. He- he should- knights must report-”

          “To me,” Arthur said with a grim expression. “Which he does, every morning and evening. What he does when I have no task for him isn’t my business. Nor is it yours.”

          Galahad looked at his brothers, it seemed he was missing something. Gawain was the first to move, clapping a large hand on Galahad’s shoulder and guiding him to a bench.

          “Why don’t you have a seat and think about why you care so much about Tristan’s comings and goings?”

          “I- I don’t.”

          “’Course you don’t,” said Bors with a wink. He plopped a coin on the table. “Have a pint on me.”

          “Thanks.” Galahad watched as Arthur and the men trailed out of the tavern. He had been so worried about Tristan these past few days, maybe he’d missed something important. Could the others tell he missed the annoying scout?

          “Thought you’d be glad he was gone,” said Vanora. She sat a pint in front of Galahad before returning to the counter. She offered him a smile as she packed some wine, cheese, and cured meats into a basket. On top, she placed a plump green apple. “You two are always fussing at each other.”

          “It wasn’t him.” Galahad absently took a swig of his ale. “It was the bird.”

          “Tristan’s hawk?” Vanora set the basket aside and took up a rag, rubbing at a spot on a table. “He’s a wonder with that bird. I’ve never seen one trained so good.”

          “She’s not that well trained.” Galahad picked at a nick in the wood, digging his finger into the splinters. “She kept attacking me.”

          “Really?”

          “Every time I turned my back that flying devil stole something from me! My bracers, my shirt, even my lunch! The thing should be struck down so it doesn’t bother anyone else.”

          “Almost sounds like that bird is sweet on you.” Vanora looked up from scrubbing the table, an eyebrow arched.

          “What?”

          “Bors used to steal my wash rags, take pies from the windowsill, anything to get me to chase after him.” Vanora smiled. “Finally had to bed him, give something better to do, eh?”

          Galahad blinked. He thought back to the afternoon under the tree. Tristan never sat on blankets when the ground would do. And all that food…Tristan had never been one to take so much unless…

          Unless he was expecting someone else.

          Galahad’s heart hammered in his chest. Tristan had been waiting for him, with his favorite foods spread along his favorite shady spot by the brook. Galahad was so busy yelling it didn’t even occur to him that this might have been a clumsy attempt at seduction by a man who largely preferred the company of beasts to men.

          Galahad wasn’t being mocked. He was being wooed. 

          “I have to leave. I-” Galahad stood, his hands shaking. He had to find Tristan, had to fix this. He’d even apologize to the bird if he had to. Vanora’s hand stopped his dash out the door.

          “Here,” she said with a wink, offering Galahad the basket she had packed. “In case the bird is hungry, he’s been in those trees for a few days.”

          Galahad smiled, nodding as he raced toward the tree line.

* * *

          He made it to the cypresses just as the light was fading from the sky. He couldn’t see the hawk, but it called a warning to Tristan as Galahad approached. The young knight glared skyward, searching branches for a familiar tangle of hair or marked cheeks.

          “I know you’re here. That ridiculous chicken you travel with gave you away.” Galahad craned again, no sign of Tristan. Perhaps he was deeper in the thicket? “Come down, Tristan. Please.”

          Galahad started when something heavy landed directly behind him. He turned to find Tristan a breath away, hair hanging in his eyes and face the same stoic mask it always was. Galahad noted that the knight wouldn’t meet his eyes, his mouth set into a snarl as he spoke.

          “Did you bring me dinner, pup?”

          Never one to shy away from Tristan’s moods, Galahad snarled back, dropping the basket and shoving Tristan into the trunk of the nearest tree.

          “The next time you want me, don’t send your damn bird,” Galahad whispered before sealing their mouths together.

          Tristan grunted once, shock keeping him still. Galahad shifted against him, pressing himself insistently against the scout’s body and licking against the seam of Tristan’s lips. Finally, the scout moved, wrapping an arm around Galahad’s waist and sinking his free hand into the boy’s curls. He slowed down Galahad’s frantic movements, sucking at the younger knight’s bottom lip and rolling their hips together.

          When the kiss broke, Tristan leaned back to study Galahad.

          “Thought you had no use for me or my girl.” His voice was breathless.

          “I’d still put that bird on a spit, given half a chance,” Galahad said, brushing the bangs out of Tristan’s eyes and running a thumb over the tattoo on the scout’s cheek. “But I can think of a use for you.”

          “I do like to be useful.” Tristan’s hand wandered lower, tracing over the swell of Galahad’s ass and playing with the leather of his Pretorian skirt. “What changed your mind?”

          Galahad mouthed at Tristan’s neck, rubbing his beard into the soft skin he found. “I didn’t know I was meant to make a decision, you stupid oaf.”

          Tristan chuckled, slipping his hand beneath the leather to palm Galahad’s bare ass. “I was never very good with words. I didn’t know how to ask.”

          Galahad pulled at Tristan’s shirt, exposing the scouts throat to his teeth and lips. “Just don’t say it with birds.”

          Tristan gave Galahad a quick swat, before kneading the flesh beneath his fingers. “Don’t be so hard on Isolde, she did bring you to me.”

          Galahad grabbed Tristan’s shoulders, hips grinding into the scout’s thigh. “I brought myself to you. That horrid vulture had nothing to do with it.”

          “She lured you to the round table half naked and dripping,” Tristan groaned. “How I wanted to lick the water from your chest.”

          Tristan’s fingers dipped between the clefts of Galahad’s ass, brushing against Galahad’s hole. The younger knight tensed, eyes going wide. Tristan pressed his thigh up, offering the startled man some friction.

          “Never before, pup?”

          Galahad rubbed himself on Tristan’s thigh, a flush creeping over his cheeks. “I- I know what’s to be done. I’m not, I just haven’t-”

          “Pure of body, but not mind? ” Tristan murmured into the boy’s ear, nipping at the soft flesh just beneath the lobe. “What have you pictured when you slipped your hand beneath that pretty little skirt?”

          Galahad felt his thighs begin to tremble, he pressed back into Tristan’s hands, shivering when the night air reminded him of how exposed he was. “You, always you. Bending me over the fence at the training grounds, taking me apart by your brook, your mouth on me.”

          Galahad choked on his thoughts as Tristan wrapped warm calloused fingers around his cock. The scout thumbed the weeping slit, before resting his wet digit upon Galahad’s lips and allowing the boy to suckle.

          “Still so eager to learn at my feet, boy?” Galahad nodded, moaning as he pressed his forehead into Tristan’s shoulder. “I think we’ll start with a riding lesson.”

          Tristan shifted his weight, dragging Galahad with him to the ground. The grass was cold against Galahad’s legs, but he soon forgot about the sensation when strong fingers began exploring the columns of his thighs.

          “Such a pretty boy,” Tristan cooed, carefully avoiding Galahad’s straining cock as he drew his fingertips across heated flesh.

          Galahad arched into the touches, his own fingers fumbling as they struggled with the ties on Tristan’s pants. “Have you thought about me too, scout? When you’re alone in your trees, nothing but the Woads and your mind to keep you company.”

          Tristan paused his ministrations, letting Galahad struggle to slip the linen off his hips. The knight took care to unlace each of Tristan’s boots and carefully fold the scout’s discarded pants, concentrating on each task even as his hands shook. When Tristan was bare, Galahad traced a cautious finger along the scout’s graceful legs, following sinew as he drew his hand up.

          “I dreamed of you, exactly like this,” Tristan whispered. Galahad grinned, tentatively stroking Tristan’s length as he bit his lip.

          “How long?”

          “Since the moment I saw you.”

          “You were sixteen.” Galahad scoffed. Tristan took the opportunity to close the distance between them, rolling his hips against Galahads. The younger knight cried out, clutching desperately at Tristan’s back.

          “I was sixteen,” Tristan whispered. “And I knew I’d never see anything more beautiful than the blue-eyed boy who tried to fight two Roman soldiers with a broken plank of wood and a snarl.”

          “You told them I needed breaking, that you’d train me.” Galahad felt dizzy as Tristan’s mouth found the join in his shoulder.

          “I trained you well.” Tristan pressed his teeth into Galahad. “You’d be able to kill more than two Romans with a plank of wood now.”

          Galahad laughed, closing his eyes as he arched into the man above him. “I thought you were going to continue my training? I believe I was promised a riding lesson?”

          “Stay.” Tristan leaned back, grabbing at the basket of food. “Did Vanora pack this?”

          “Yes?” Galahad furrowed his brow, hips still wriggling under Tristan’s weight. Tristan laid a hand on Galahad’s thigh absently, stroking the younger knight softly as he rummaged in the basket. “What are you looking for?”

          “The same thing she packed in my basket when you refused me,” Tristan smiled, holding up a small bottle of olive oil. “Ready for your riding lesson?” 

          Galahad nodded, swallowing as he watched Tristan with big eyes. He moved on shaking knees to straddle the scout, lifting his skirt for better access. Tristan leaned up, kissing the younger knight softly and stroking his hair. He waited until Galahad melted into the kiss before he tightened his grip and pushed the boy the grass, climbing atop him.

          “No one said you’d be riding tonight, boy,” Tristan whispered, dragging his teeth down Galahad’s neck. He moved back, dripping some oil on Galahad’s fingers. “Slick them well, preparation is important.”

          Galahad’s heart was rabbiting in his chest. He took the bottle from Tristan and poured more oil over his hand. Tristan guided Galahad’s trembling fingers between his legs, rubbing himself over the calloused pads.

          “Breach slowly, like you’re stalking small game. If you go too fast, you’ll spook your quarry.”

          Galahad pressed up, following the crevice of Tristan’s ass and circling the tight ring of muscle he found. Gently, he pressed in, watching as Tristan hissed with pleasure and sank minutely onto Galahad’s hand.

          The heat of Tristan’s body was nearly unbearable. Galahad whined as he sought more, moaning wantonly when Tristan’s body welcomed the invasion.

          “Good Galahad, more oil, another finger.” Tristan’s voice was strained, his back arching with each gentle push of Galahad’s fingers. Tristan talked him through the process with a tight voice, groaning when Galahad crooked his fingers just so and arching with each stretch. Galahad could only watch in awe, memorizing every sound and shudder he drew from the stoic scout.

          “Slick your cock, boy. I’m ready for you.”

          Galahad spilled the oil in his haste, making Tristan laugh softly. The older knight righted the bottle and took Galahad’s hand, kissing the palm softly before he poured some oil into it. The wet slide of Galahad’s hand against his cock was almost too much, he bit his lips to keep control.

          “So beautiful,” Tristan whispered, gently taking hold of Galahad’s cock and guiding it to his entrance. The initial breach took the air from the young knight’s lungs, the molten heat enveloping him and driving him mad. He began pleading for he knew not what, writhing helplessly as Tristan sank further.

          When Tristan fully seated himself, Galahad was near mindless with pleasure. His instinct was to thrust desperately into the heat that constricted around him. A strong hand tugged his hair, making his back bow against the pain. Tristan leaned forward, the new angle making Galahad whimper.

          “The rider chooses the pace, pup, not the horse.” Tristan smiled, then slowly dragged himself up Galahad’s cock before dropping back down, his walls clenching deliciously with each movement. Galahad’s mouth fell open, his chest burned as he watched Tristan find his seat and set a pace.

          Watching sweat form on the scout’s brow, Galahad lifted his fingers to catch a droplet, bringing the liquid to his lips. Salt filled his tongue as pleasure strung tight in his groin, like a bowstring desperate for release.

          "Tris-Tristan," Galahad's fingers grappled at the scout's hips, trying to slow the unyielding rolling motion. "I'm- I'm going to-"

          A sharp slap to his thigh made Galahad gasp. Tristan never slowed his movements, sinking down on Galahad's cock relentlessly.

          "Young pup like you should have more stamina than that." Tristan twisted, clenching around Galahad and forcing the young knight's eyes to roll back in his head. "We'll work on that later. For now, know this: If you find your release before me and I'll keep you aching the rest of the week."

          Galahad moaned, thrusting harder into the heat of the man who rode him.

          A week with Tristan.

          A week of this.

          Could there be anything better?

          Slapping for the bottle of oil, Galahad slicked his hand again, bringing it to Tristan’s cock. He experimented with short and long strokes, until he found a rhythm that made the scout snarl and ride him harder.

          “You always were a quick study,” Tristan puffed, throwing his head back and bowing his back. The angle sent white sparks to the corners of Galahad’s vision. He moaned, reaching for Tristan with his free hand. The scout laced their fingers together, bringing Galahad’s hand to rest over his heart.

          Galahad came with Tristan’s name on his lips, shaking and clutching at the man astride him. Tristan followed soon after, staining the Pretorian leather and linen shirt Galahad hadn’t bothered to remove.

          Once both men could stop shaking, Galahad made the Herculean effort of dragging Tristan to him, pressing soft kisses to tattooed cheeks.

          “Kiss me all you want, pup,” Tristan whispered. “You lost the bet, that means you’re mine for the week.”

          “It was worth it to know you’ll keep me that long.” Galahad let his eyes drop, suddenly feeling rather naked, in spite of his shirt and skirt.

          Tristan grabbed Galahad’s chin, drawing the younger man to him and looking into his eyes. “I’ll keep you always, and not a day less.”

          Galahad smiled.

          “Not a day less,” He agreed.

          Their next kiss was languid, filled with soft thoughts and words that neither had the courage to utter. When the chill of the ground started creeping into Galahad’s bones, Tristan pulled away.

          “Come, pup,” He said, grabbing his pants and offering Galahad a hand. “Let’s get you back to that warm room of yours and see what we can do about bending you over your bed.”

* * *

          Tristan and Galahad were late to breakfast the next day. No one said anything about the careful steps Galahad took, or his slight wince when he sat. Tristan flopped next to him on the bench, signaling Vanora for their food.

          “Did you by chance hear those fox screams last night?” Lancelot said with a slow smile.

          “I did,” said Gawain, stifling his laugh. “Most ungodly howling I’ve ever heard.”

          “Gods, Vanora and I had to comfort the children. They thought an animal was dying outside,” offered Bors with a laugh. Galahad had turned pink, Tristan merely snorted, cutting his apple.

          “Any idea when mating season will be over, Tristan?” Lancelot raised an eyebrow.

          “Foxes’ mating season is already over, Lancelot.” Tristan cut an apple wedge clean and offered it to Galahad. He wrapped his lips around Tristan’s blade without thought, only to turn pinker when Gawain giggled. “But I’m not surprised you don’t recognize the sounds of pleasure coming out of a bedchamber. I’ve lived next to you for 15 years and the only thing I’ve ever heard from your rooms is the sound of coin being exchanged.”

          Lancelot threw his apple at Tristan’s head. The scout caught it with ease and offered it to Galahad with a wink.

* * *

          Bors and Galahad surveyed the troops as they practiced their marching drills.

          “You’ve been quiet today.”

          Galahad shrugged. “He’s not due back for another two days.”

          Bors laughed, slinging an arm around the smaller knight’s shoulders. “Strange how big a bed seems when you’re alone in it, eh?”

          “What do you do on those nights Vanora’s with Lancelot?”

          Bors slapped at the back of Galahad’s head, blustering. “You see if you or your scout gets a meal for the next month!”

          Galahad grinned, opening his mouth to speak when he heard a familiar shriek. He looked up to see Isolde circling high above the training area. She spiraled closer, waiting until she was a few feet over Galahad’s head to release a sprig of foxglove from her talons. Galahad caught the spike of blooms with a smile.

          “He’ll be home tonight.”

          “Well, what are you waiting for?” Bors shoved at Galahad, steering him to the town. “Go tell Vanora you’ll need food brought up to your room. And tell Tristan to wear pants when he answers the door this time. Three hasn’t stopped talking about the sausage on the braided man.”  

 


End file.
